ation and evil
knowledge, that the purest, and tenderest, and strongest virtues are to
be found.

As Owen approached his home, he could not avoid contrasting the
circumstances of his return now with those under which, almost
broken-hearted after his journey to Dublin, he presented himself to his
sorrowing and bereaved wife about eighteen years before. He raised
his hat, and thanked God for the success which had, since that period,
attended him, and, immediately after his silent thanksgiving, entered
the house.

His welcome, our readers may be assured, was tender and affectionate.
The whole family gathered about him, and, on his informing them that
they were once more about to reside on a farm adjoining to their beloved
Tubber Derg, Kathleen's countenance brightened, and the tear of delight
gushed to her eyes.

"God be praised, Owen," she exclaimed; "we will have the ould place
afore our eyes, an' what is betther, we will be near where Alley is
lyin'. But that's true, Owen," she added, "did you give the light of our
hearts the mother's message?"

Owen paused, and his features were slightly overshadowed, but only by
the solemnity of the feeling.

"Kathleen," said he, "I gave her your message; but, avourneen, have
sthrange news for you about Alley."

"What, Owen? What is it, acushla? Tell me quick?"

"The blessed child was not neglected--no, but she was honored in our
absence. A head-stone was put over her, an' stands there purtily this
minute."

"Mother of Glory, Owen!"

"It's thruth. Widow Murray an' her son Jemmy put it up, wid words upon
it that brought the tears to my eyes. Widow Murray is dead, but her
childher's doin' well. May God bless an' prosper them, an' make her
happy!"

The delighted mother's heart was not proof against the widow's
gratitude, expressed, as it had been, in a manner so affecting. She
rocked herself to and fro in silence, whilst the tears fell in showers
down her cheeks. The grief, however, which this affectionate couple felt
for their child, was not always such as the reader has perceived it to
be. It was rather a revival of emotions that had long slumbered, but
never died; and the associations arising from the journey to Tubber
Derg, had thrown them back, by the force of memory, almost to the period
of her death. At times, indeed, their imagination had conjured her up
strongly, but the present was an epoch in the history of their sorrow.

There is little more to be said. Sorrow